


T is for Tsukki

by sushibomb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Nekoma, embarrassing teen romance, resigned/disgruntled Tsuki, sappy kuroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushibomb/pseuds/sushibomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo is amazing at a lot of things. Skilled and respected captain of a top volleyball team, straight A student, model son and upstanding teen citizen. There's just one gift he wasn't born with: The ability to woo Tsukishima with his words. Doesn't mean he won't try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	T is for Tsukki

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saunatonttu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/gifts).



> For the HQHOLS Summer Exchange! I've never written kurotsukki, so I hope this came out alright! *frets* Please enjoy, Saunatonttu! I don't know if it follows your request 100%, but I really hope you like it. :D 
> 
> Also...I've never written poetry so I had to get a little creative

“I think Tsukki likes poetry.”

Kuroo says it so quietly and casually that it almost doesn’t register in Kenma’s mind that Kuroo had even spoken. It’s when Kuroo clicks his tongue and bounces the volleyball he’s holding a couple times, forcefully enough that the sound echoes through their school gym, that Kenma realizes that Kuroo’s seemingly random observation is not imagined, nor is it rhetorical.

“He doesn’t really seem like the ‘poet’ type to me…”He mutters back, hands outstretched to catch the ball. Kuroo shakes his head as he tosses it back.

“Yeah,” He begins, gazing upward towards the ceiling thoughtfully with his hands on his hips, “I didn’t think so either, until this past weekend.”

Kenma dribbles the volleyball a couple of times before losing his grip on it. He watches it roll away towards where Yaku and Lev are talking (actually it was more like Yaku was yelling up at Lev and Lev was sheepishly laughing it off), but makes no effort to go after it. He has no reason to, as Kuroo immediately jogs after it.

“What happened this weekend?” Kenma asks when Kuroo returns with the ball. Kuroo balances the ball on his finger and spins it.

“We went on a ‘kind of’ date.”

Kenma deadpans. “What the hell is a ‘kind of’ date?”

“Exactly what it-oop-hey! Kai! You freakin-” Kuroo cuts himself off when Nobuyuki walks by and knocks the volleyball to the floor with a laugh. Kuroo hollers a few choice words at the vice captain, who only offers an amused smirk in response.

“Like I was saying,” Kuroo continues when Nobuyuki is out of ear shot, “Exactly what it sounds like. We hung out together; just the two of us, and it was…” Kuroo smiles to himself, “I dunno, it was nice. Tsukki’s so different once you really get to know him.”

“Okay…and what about the poetry?”  Kenma plops down on the bleachers and reaches for his phone. Kuroo trots after him wordlessly, planting himself on the next row up. He yawns and stretches out (obnoxiously, Kenma thinks), leaning on the row behind him on his elbows, while his legs dangle over the lower bleacher. Kenma slides closer to his childhood friend and tucks into himself; pulling his legs up to rest his head on his knees before turning his phone back on.

“Right, right.” Kuroo drawls once he finally settles. “Well, we went to this little book store down town, you know, the one with the starbucks attached?”

Kenma smirks softly. “Oh wow…a bookstore-coffee shop date… did you try to eat him afterward?”

“Did you really just make a _Tokyo Ghoul_ reference?”

Kenma grins into the material of his shorts. “I sure did. It seemed like the only appropriate way to respond.”

Kuroo laughs. “Okay, well no. I didn’t. I did kiss him though.” Kuroo says, wiggling his eyebrows. Kenma turns to his phone, a soft ‘ugh’ escaping him. Kuroo probably heard it, but the older teen doesn’t comment, choosing instead to continue his recant.

“So anyway, I go to the bathroom, and when I come back, I find him in the ‘Foreign Books’ section, flipping through a crazy thick book of poems.”

Kenma glances back at Kuroo. “That doesn’t necessarily mean he _likes_ poetry, Kuroo. And even if he does, why does it matter?”

“I can tell that he does! He didn’t buy it, but we hung out there in that section for a good hour while he read parts of that book. He seemed really into it.”

Kenma scrolls down his text messages, shaking his head. “Yeah, so? My mom reads all kinds of weird recipes for stuff online.” He pauses to look up at Kuroo. “And you know my mom; she’s not exactly the Iron Chef.”

Kuroo shakes his head quickly. “No, she’s definitely not.” He agrees bluntly.

“Yeah.”

“But writing is a whole lot easier than cooking, don’t you think?”

“I dunno, I gues-wait, what?”

Kenma sets his phone aside and turns to face Kuroo fully. Kuroo is hunched forward with his chin resting in his open palms, humming a happy little tune to himself. But it’s his smile that Kenma immediately finds concerning. It’s that same toothy, shit-eating smile that Kuroo flashed him the first day they met, right after Kenma told him he didn’t know how to play volleyball. And also on Kenma’s twelfth birthday, when he and Bokuto (who was new to their neighborhood at that point) planned a ‘secret’ water balloon fight that Kenma not only knew _all_ about, but vehemently begged to be left out of. (They didn’t.)

It’s a smile that means trouble. Or at least, as much trouble as the Nekoma captain can manage to get himself into all on his own. Kenma can’t stop himself from snorting. Kuroo is smart, but _really_.

 “You? Writing _poetry_?”

Kuroo shrugs, his smile now floating somewhere between mischievous and a little dopey. Kenma smiles mentally. A lovesick Kuroo is truly a sight to behold. He briefly wonders if perhaps it would be in everyone’s best interest that he give Tsukishima a heads up, but before he can pull up the Karasuno first year’s number, Kuroo sighs out loud, pulling him out of his head and back into the present.

“I wanna do something romantic for him, so…” Kuroo trails off, tapping his fingers against his cheek, letting out another little sigh. Kenma sighs as well, though his is out of an emotion far less endearing than young affection.

“Yeah…but _poems_? I mean, no offense, but that sounds cheesy.”

“Nuh-uh.” Kuroo cuts in, somewhat petulantly. “Sure it’s a little old-fashioned, but Tsukki’s an old soul.”

 “And besides,” Kenma continues, ignoring Kuroo’s retort, “Isn’t poetry supposed to be kind of hard? I guess it depends on what style it is but, you know, like, in general?”

Kuroo scoffs. “Oh come on, Kenma, how hard could it be?”

*******

“Wow! Captain, you look awful!” Lev says (loudly) when Kuroo enters Nekoma’s clubroom a few days later. All he gets in response is a tired glare and a quiet ‘thanks, Lev’, muttered under his breath. At Lev’s announcement, of course, everyone instinctively turns to look at their captain…and admit to themselves that Lev is actually right. Wilder than usual bed-head aside, Kuroo’s face looks a little pale, and there are noticeable bags under his eyes. As he walks across the room to his locker, they all notice the tired sag of his shoulders and the way he leans his head to the side to get the kinks out of his neck.

Not to mention the lack of greeting, which is unheard of for the third year. Kuroo just isn’t the cranky, aloof type.

Nobuyuki walks up to Kuroo, clapping him softly on the back. “Hey man, are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Nobuyuki opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He does this a couple of times, because he’s not sure how to tell his captain and friend that he looks like death warmed up. “Uh…it’s just that, well, Lev kind of…is right…”

Kuroo doesn’t respond right away, instead taking a minute to rummage around in his locker for his volleyball shoes. When he finds them, he tugs them out rather forcefully; so much so that one slips out of his grip and goes flying across the floor. Kuroo curses softly to himself but makes no move to go get it.

Nobuyuki tightens his grip on Kuroo’s shoulder. “Dude, if you’re not feeling well, I’ll help Nekomata-sensei run practice today. I don’t mind.” He says tentatively.

Kuroo sighs and closes his locker. “I’m not sick, just really tired.” He looks around the room and notices that everyone is watching him; equal parts curiosity and concern shine in the eyes of his team. Even Lev looks oddly in tune to the mood of the room, another rare occurrence in its own right.

“Look guys, I’m alright. It’s…uh…” Kuroo trails off, chewing on his lip, unsure how to continue. Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because Kenma segues into it for him.

“Kuroo, have you been staying up all these nights, doing _the thing_ you told me about the other day?”

Almost instantly, the heavy, worried tension in the room dissipates, leaving only wide grins and perverted teenage thoughts. ‘The thing’ can only really be _one_ thing, after all.

“Kenma!”

“Ooooh, what’s the thing?”

“Captain, are you doing naughty things?”

They move in all at once, surrounding their captain like a swarm. Kuroo blanches and clutches his duffle bag to his chest like a lifeline. “What? No! It’s not what you think!”

He turns to Kenma, completely flustered and pink in the face. “Help me!”

“Okay, okay.” Kenma waves his arms up and down slowly, gradually getting his unruly teammates to look at him. “Hey, guys, that’s not what I meant at all. Calm down.”

An explosion of murmurs erupts; some apologetic, some weirdly disappointed. Kenma rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing bad or gross…well, maybe a little gross,-”

Kuroo withers. “-Gee thanks, Kenma. I appreciate the support.”

“What? I support you one hundred percent no matter what, Kuroo. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s kind of dorky.”

By this time, mostly everyone has returned to their lockers to continue changing for practice, but the air of now thoroughly piqued interest still hangs over the room. 

“What’s dorky?” Yaku asks after tugging his jersey down. Kuroo rubs his neck, embarrassed. Neither he nor Kenma say anything for a beat; a mental debate plays across Kuroo’s face, one that only makes everyone want to know more. Kenma stays silent because it’s not his place to say, and he knows he’s already said enough, anyway.

Finally, Kuroo sighs. “I’ve been working on…something.”

“What is it?” Yamamoto asks loudly, “Are you building something?”

Kuroo gives him a weird look. “What? No.”

Yamamoto just shrugs in defense.

“I’ve been, uh, writing. A thing. And I just finished it last night. Well, this morning, technically.”

Nobuyuki closes his locker. “Oh? What for? School?”

Kuroo smiles softly. “No, it’s not for school. It’s something personal.”

Inuoka bounces over in that moment, a wide smile on his face. “Oh, is captain writing a love poem for Tsukki?”

“I- wait, how’d you know that?” Kuroo blurts out, shocked, and a little mortified. Inuoka blanks momentarily; not fully registering Kuroo’s bewildered tone and expression until Kuroo’s eyebrows furrow and he looks to Kenma. “You told him?!”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Kenma says, “I wasn’t even aware that it was a secret.”

Inuoka, as well as the rest of the Nekoma team, looks on in surprise. Some let out hoots and laughs. “Wait, that’s really what it is? I was just kidding.”

Yaku snorts. “Yikes, that _is_ embarrassing.”

Kuroo grumbles. “Shut it.”

He fiddles with the string of his shorts. “Um, actually,” He begins after a beat, staring at the floor, “I was wondering if I could read it to you guys? I dunno, maybe…after practice?”

“You could read it to us now, if you want to.” Nobuyuki says. Several ‘ _yeah_ ’s and ‘ _read it_ ’s sound around the room as everyone moves in closer.

 Kuroo smiles. “Really? Alright cool!” The Nekoma captain immediately begins digging around in his backpack. “Hang on let me find it.”

He tugs a single sheet of paper out of a random folder after a few minutes, looking more excited than anyone in the room, even Kenma, had ever seen.

“Okay, I haven’t titled it yet, but yeah.” Kuroo inhales deeply and exhales, clutching the thin, slightly wrinkled paper with both hands.

“Here it goes.”

**********

“What’s the matter with everyone today? It looks like they’ve all seen a ghost.”  Nekomata whispers to his assistant coach.

Naoi nods. “Hmm? Yeah. It’s like a scene right out of _Night of the Living Dead_. What the hell’s the matter with them? Maybe there’s mold in the clubroom.”

They both turn to Kuroo, who is standing with them, arms folded over his chest and the darkest scowl either of them has ever seen on a human face marring his normally relaxed features. Kuroo’s angry muttering is interrupted when Nekomata taps him on the arm.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing. They’re fine.”

“Kuroo, I don’t know what happened in that clubroom before you all came in here, but clearly they are anything _but_ fine. Look at them, they’re all lumbering around like they’re in limbo.”

Kuroo looks down at him. “I don’t know what you mean, _Sensei_.” He replies, tone as tight and obviously irritated as his body language suggests.

Nekomata gives him a look. “You spiked the ball earlier and it hit Lev square in the face. And he just stood there, blank -faced. You don’t find that _odd_ in any way?”

Kuroo’s eye twitches.

“Tch.” He clicks his tongue before storming off and out of the gym. Nekomata and Naoi look at each other in confusion. It’s then that Fukunaga ambles by, as silent and ashen as the rest of his teammates.

“Fukunaga, may I borrow you for a second?” Nekomata asks, hailing the teen over. When Fukunaga finally stops in front of him, the two coaches gather around him.

“Is something bothering you all? You seem a little out of it.”

“Understatement of the year, Sensei.” Naoi replies.

“Sensei,” Fukunaga begins, voice barely above a whisper, as per usual, so the two coaches have to lean in to hear him, “Have you ever heard something so horrible and depressing that it should be covered with sutras and protection spells and sealed in the basement of a shrine so it can’t bring about the downfall of mankind?”

“…”

“…Er…well…”

“Because we all just did.”

“Oh dear.”

“Kuroo read us a poem. And in the process sucked out our life forces and killed our souls.” Fukunaga raises his hands, palm up. “Our soul blood is on his hands.”

Nekomata and Naoi both step back.

“Holy hell.”

“My God…uh, you can go on back to practice.”

“What’s the point?” They hear him mumble to himself as he wanders away.

**********

Contrary to what certain members of team Karasuno would say, Tsukishima is actually a pretty cool person. It took a long time to break him out of his shell, but as Kuroo eventually learned, a little persistence, a whole lot of patience, and more common interests than they realized they had go a long way.

And of course, having nice abs helps too.

It’s Saturday night, and it is Tsukishima’s turn to sleep over Kuroo’s house. The long distance makes it difficult for them to spend much time together, so over time, they worked out an alternating weekend system for their much needed ‘couple’ time.

Kuroo’s parents are out for the evening, so the two are curled up on the couch, marathoning movies.

“If you could have a dinosaur as a pet, which one would you have?” Kuroo asks as he pops out _Jurassic Park_ and loads _The Lost World_ on his Playstation 3. Tsukishima taps at his lips, contemplating the question for a bit, before smirking.

“A plesiosaur, actually. That or a Parasaurolophus.”

Kuroo flops next to him on the couch. “I literally have no idea what either of those things are.”

Tsukishima pushes Kuroo’s arm up and tucks himself underneath it. They both bring their feet up and make themselves comfortable. Tsukishima chuckles all the while, explaining what types of dinosaurs they are. “The plesiosaur is actually in the new movie that came out. It’s the giant one in the water that eats the shark.”

“Wow. That one is pretty badass.”

“What what would you get?”

“A velociraptor.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue. “Could you at least _try_ to be creative? Are you saying velociraptor because you actually like it or are you saying it because it’s the only dinosaur whose name you can remember?”

Kuroo snorts and kisses his cheek. “Yeah, there you go.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“Well hey, wouldn’t you wanna be a raptor wrangler? That’d be awesome.” Kuroo grins. “Looks like Bert Macklin hung up his shades to become the raptor whisperer.”

“His name is Chris Pratt, Kuroo.”

“Yeah, I know that. You’ve never heard of Parks and Rec?”

“Is that an American show?”

“It is, but I found it online with Japanese subtitles. It’s pretty funny. Chris Pratt plays a character on that show who has an alter ego, and his name is Bert Macklin. He’s this rogue FBI agent…and…” Kuroo trails off when he notices the weird look Tsukishima is giving him. “…uh, never mind. It’ll make more sense if you actually see it.”

Tsukishima nods slowly, settling closer to Kuroo. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

**********

It’s a little after midnight when their movie marathon finally ends and the two trek upstairs to Kuroo’s bedroom to sleep. As Kuroo closes the door behind them, his eyes fall on his backpack, sitting on the floor against the side of his desk. He chews on the inside of his cheek, considering if he should read his poem to Tsukishima.

Surely, Tsukishima would appreciate it more than his lousy teammates, right?

“Hey, Tsukki? I sort of want to make tonight _special_.”

Tsukishima stops digging around in his overnight bag and looks up at Kuroo, a look of concern and (maybe?) fear spreading quickly across his face. “Um, Kuroo? Look, I know we’ve been seeing each other for a few months, but we’re still pretty young, and I’m not sure I’m okay with anything more than kissing, so-”

Kuroo immediately sputters. “What? Wait, no, no, no, no, no, no. Nooo. That’s not what I meant at all. I’m not talking about sex or anything.” He laughs in embarrassment. “Sorry, that was misleading.”

Tsukishima deadpans. “Yeah, it was.”

“I made something for you. Well, I mean, I wrote it.”

One delicate blonde eyebrow arches. “You _wrote_ me something?” A close-lipped smile that borders on a smirk spreads across Tsukishima’s face as he takes a seat at the foot of Kuroo’s bed.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait to hear it.” He drawls, crossing his legs and folding his arms.

The amused curl of Tsukishima’s lip sends a nervous chill through the older teen, who nearly reconsiders reading it aloud. But he already implied that he wants to read it aloud, and suddenly saying that he lost it wouldn’t fool someone as astute as Tsukishima. So he steels himself, fishes the now significantly more crumpled paper out from where he had angrily crammed it into his backpack earlier that week and stands in front of his boyfriend.

“I hope you like it, Tsukki.”

*****

Tsukishima doesn’t like it.

 Monday morning finds Kuroo sitting in the courtyard before class, dejected, picking at a pork bun he bought on his way to school as Yaku, Kenma, and Nobuyuki watch him, each emanating different levels of pity for their captain and friend.

“What’d he say when you read it?” Yaku asks.

Kuroo sighs for what feels like the thousandth time since they sat down. “He said he loved me, and that if I loved him, I would burn it in a fire.”

Kenma hums in thought. “That’s a surprisingly mild reaction, considering what a traumatizing hellscape that poem was.”

“Yeah,” Yaku nods in agreement, “Worst case scenario, he starts crying and begs you never to call him again. I think you got lucky, despite your bad decision…and bad poetry…”

Kuroo scoffs, affronted. “My mom liked it.”

Kenma sets his DS down. “Kuroo, your mom wasn’t even listening when you read it to her. She was talking on the phone. You were so excited to read it to her, you didn’t even notice.”

Kuroo frowns. “Damn.”

Nobuyuki claps Kuroo on the shoulder. “Cheer up, man. I’m sure there’s other things you can do to be romantic. If at first you don’t succeed; try, try again.” His words are meant to be a subtle deterrent, but as a look of renewed determination begins to burn in Kuroo’s eyes, Nobuyuki realizes he only added fuel to the fire. The three of them blanch.

“You’re right Kai,” Kuroo says after a beat, standing quickly. “So what if it wasn’t that good the first time around-”

“-It was awful-”

“-Shut your mouth, Yaku.” Kuroo snaps. “I’m gonna try again. And again. And again, again, again. Until I blow Tsukki’s mind.”

“Are we still talking about your shitty poem, or-”

“YES. Yaku. We are. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Kuroo waves and heads off in the direction of the library, a noticeable pep in his step. When he disappears around the corner, the three of them look to each other and sigh.

This can only go poorly.

**********

“Tsukishima! Tsu-ki-shi-maaaa!” At any given time, Hinata’s voice is the single most grating sound known to man, and especially to Tsukishima. And at eight in the morning, an actual foghorn or a jackhammer or a plane taking off over his house would be less aggravating to a tired and cranky Tsukishima.

“What is it?” He mutters when Hinata skids to a stop in front of him, having raced from the opposite end of the first year hallway to reach him. Hinata, who is hunched over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, beams up at him.

“I have mail.”

Tsukishima gives him a look. “…Excuse me?”

When he catches his breath, Hinata stands to his full height (which isn’t much of a difference, Tsukishima thinks to himself with a smirk), and pulls an envelope from somewhere in his uniform.

“Kenma said to give this to you. It’s from Nekoma’s captain.”

At the mention of Kuroo, and the sight of the long envelope, with a simple ‘For Tsukki’ written on the front in Kuroo’s small, neat handwriting, the tall first year immediately puts two and two together and drags his hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” He mutters to himself.

Kuroo’s persistence is occasionally admirable, Tsukishima will admit. But it’s been nearly two months since that night at Kuroo’s house, and after that frankly bleak five minutes of meter, recited passionately by his boyfriend, Tsukishima had assumed (a silly thing to do when Kuroo is involved, he sees that now) that that would be the end of it.

The last thing he had expected was to be bombarded with random (and often lengthy) poems, mailed to his house weekly, slipped into his backpack when he’s not looking, spouted randomly and theatrically when he and Kuroo go out in public, and now, hand delivered via shrimp mail, aka Hinata.

 _That son of a bitch is resourceful, I’ll give him that._ Tsukishima thinks.

Kuroo certainly isn’t letting the distance between Miyagi and Tokyo get in the way of his bizarre and seemingly out of nowhere quest to melt Tsukishima with his words. Not including this latest edition, a grand total of fifty- four lovingly handwritten poems sit stacked on Tsukishima’s desk at home.

Who knew Kuroo was such a relentless, hopeless romantic? Certainly not Tsukishima.

Hinata stares from him to the envelope still in his hand. “What is it?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh come on! I had to hand-deliver it to _you_ , the least you can do is tell me what it is!” Hinata whines up at him. Tsukishima smirks. “If you wanna know so bad, hand me the envelope and I’ll show you.”

“Really?”

“Sure, why not.”

Hinata hands it over, lip twisting with curiosity. Unfortunately for him, Tsukishima has other plans. The second the envelope is securely in his hands, Tsukishima makes an about face and casually heads to class.

“Later days, dwarf.” He calls over his shoulder, laughing to himself as Hinata fumes and hollers behind him at having been tricked. It was his own fault for being so gullible.

He reads it later, when he’s sitting in math class, and sighs. It’s not nearly as god awful as the others, which isn’t really saying much, but it still brings a tiny smile to Tsukishima’s face. As terrible of a poet as he is, at least Kuroo cares about him. A lot. And it’s completely genuine. No ulterior motives, no tricks, nothing. No one who can pump out this much sap could possibly be pretending to like him.

He folds it back up and tucks it into the back of his math folder for safekeeping.

**********

Later that night, love poem #55 finds its rightful place atop the stack of sickeningly sweet teenage romance that is Kuroo’s writing. Tsukishima straightens the stack out of habit and pushes it to the side to make room for his textbooks.  But before he has the chance to sit down and begin studying for the evening, his phone vibrates twice.

He picks it up. A single text, from an unknown number, though he recognizes the number as one from Tokyo. Curious, he sits down on his bed instead and opens the message.

**_Hey is this Tsukishima?_ **

His mouth scrunches.

**_Yeah? Who the hell is this?_ **

His phone vibrates within seconds.

**_My name is Kenma. I’m Kuroo’s friend?_ **

**_The one with the bad dye job?_ **

**_Uh…yeah, I guess. Anyway, I was wondering…actually hoping…that you could help us_ **

Tsukishima’s brows furrow.

**_Help you with what?_ **

His phone blows up almost immediately.

“Holy shit!” Tsukishima says loudly when his phone continually buzzes with texts.

**_Kuroo and his poems!!!!!_ **

**_U need 2 help us_ **

**_Pls god we can’t take it n e more_ **

**_He locks us in the club room and makes us listen to his bad poems every freaking day and I’m LOSING MY MIOND_ **

**_LOOK AT THIS VIDEO KENMA TOOK THE OTHER DAY OF HIM READING TO US_ **

Another text comes through, this time with a video attached. Tsukishima downloads it.

It is Nekoma’s club room, and from the looks of it, the video is being shot discreetly from behind some kind of red fabric, possibly a jacket. It zooms in on Kuroo, who is standing in front of the only door to the room, reading aloud. Thankfully, it seems like it’s nearing the end, since Kuroo’s poems tend to follow a similar cadence, and Tsukishima recognizes the change in tone that indicate Kuroo’s almost done reading.

“ _\- and as my heart beats in tandem with your footsteps, I realize I will only ever follow after you, only watch you, for you are the one whom fate has dealt the lover’s hand. The hand that is my own.”_

Kuroo looks up, beaming, “What’d you guys think? Good, right? I’m getting way better.”

A chorus of groans and boos and ‘let us out, I have to go home’ resound and Tsukishima can’t quell the loud peel of laughter that erupts from him. _Kuroo is fucking insane._

A short, brown-haired kid who Tsukishima recognizes as the team’s libero, folds his arms. “Do you want the truth? Or should we lie to you?”

Kuroo frowns. “Lie to me.”

The kid flashes a thumbs up. “Excellent. Brilliant worded magic that will transcend time.”

“Okay, truth.”

A voice, who Tsukishima recognizes as Kenma’s, cuts in. “It sounds like something a serial killer would leave at a crime scene for the police to find.”

“Oh, wow.” Tsukishima mumbles. He can’t say he disagrees, though.

The video ends with a loud, indignant squawk from Kuroo.  There is a brief pause, and then one lone text. Tsukishima opens it, somewhat hesitantly.

**_Sorry about that, my team is with me. We called an emergency meeting to text you. Kuroo’s out of control. Since the poems are for you, we figured you could put an end to this insanity._ **

**_Cud u talk 2 him??? Pls????? his poems are so bad_ **

Tsukishima rolls his eyes before texting back.

**_Yeah I know that, I’m the one on the receiving end of them_ **

**_Could you, I don’t know, talk to him?_ **

Tsukishima smiles at his phone. Poor guys. He owes them this, at least.

**_Yeah, I’ll talk to him._ **

*****

That talk comes much sooner than Tsukishima anticipates. It’s already Saturday, and he’s at Kuroo’s house once again. It’s one of those nights where the two of them would prefer to lie around making out than do much else and frankly, Kuroo’s soft lips and skilled tongue make dealing with his never-ending romantic overtures worth it.

They’ve been at it for the better part of an hour; snuggled together in Kuroo’s bed, shirts off and chests close, but now it’s coming to a bit of a lull. Kuroo moans softly into Tsukishima’s mouth before slowly pulling away, still sucking lazily at his bottom lip. “God, I love you so much.” He murmurs, tone low and slurred. Kuroo can be a straight up weirdo at times, but it’s time like this, when they’re wrapped up in each other’s arms and Kuroo talks to him that in specific tone of voice and he is _so fucking sexy_ , that Tsukishima thinks he’s ready to let Kuroo love him the way the older teen won’t admit that he’s dying to.

But where Kuroo is concerned, the ‘weird’ and the ‘fucking sexy’ tend to take backseats to each other, often within minutes.

 Kuroo gives him one final, tender kiss before sitting up and walking over to his desk.  “I wrote you another poem.”

Tsukishima forces a smile. “…Oh really?”

Kuroo beams over his shoulder at him. “Yep! I wrote it today in Chemistry. Wanna hear it?”

He doesn’t give Tsukishima a chance to answer before he bounds back over in two strides and pulls the both of them down until they’re lying down again. He wraps an arm around Tsukishima’s shoulders, pulling him close against him.

“Comfy?” He asks once they’re settled, unfolding his latest poem as he does.

“Mmhm.”

Kuroo begins to read, and as he does, in the same predictable and practiced cadence that Tsukishima is now used to, the thought of telling Kuroo to stop all but leaves his mind. It’s so cheesy, and his poems are hilariously bad, but they’re sweet.

He’s sweet.

Tsukishima’s eyes flit up to Kuroo’s face, watching the ways his eyes skim across the page as he reads, smiling affectionately at the twinkle in them. From his eyes they fall to his lips, following the way Kuroo smoothly and confidently speaks, so sure of himself despite all the teasing from his teammates, as well as Tsukishima himself.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his lips are on Kuroo’s, silencing him. His hand slides into Kuroo’s fringe, pulling him deeper into the kiss. After a few seconds, Kuroo relaxes into it and the hand that is still holding his poem rests on Tsukishima’s hip.

“I love you, Kuroo.” Tsukishima says when they pull apart. “You and your terrible poems.”

Kuroo makes an indignant noise. “What? They’re not!”

Tsukishima laughs. “Yeah, they’re pretty bad, Kuroo.”

Kuroo rolls over onto his back, scowling. “Well, my feelings are hurt. I thought you liked all my poems.”

“I do. But I don’t like them because they’re good, I like them because you take the time to write them.” Tsukishima leans over and kisses Kuroo on the cheek gingerly. “I think there’s something to be said about someone who goes so far out of his way to make another person feel special. And loved.”

Tsukishima snorts into Kuroo’s shoulder. “Even if you torture your whole team with it. Please let them be. They don’t deserve to be guinea pigs.”

Kuroo turns to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Kenma, that’s his name right? He and the rest of your team texted me the other night, begging me to talk to you. God, Kuroo, quit locking your team in the club room and forcing them to listen to your sappy poems.”

Kuroo grumbles, but after a few seconds, he smiles too. “Fine, they’re off the hook. I guess my trashy teen romance poems will only have one audience member from now on.”

“Kuroo, your bad poems are for my ears only.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Side note: Please watch Parks and Recreation that show is hilarious


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